


Time, As A Symptom

by evilertwin (gaylancesweets)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, my kink: loving and healthy marriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylancesweets/pseuds/evilertwin
Summary: Of course Derek was going to be the first one he told. It's not his fault a hitwoman got in the way.(established relationship au ending to 11x11 "entropy")





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from the [joanna newsom song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHAHgjL0YzQ) because it breaks my gotdamn heart

They’ve had tense drives home before. Victims they couldn’t save, cases that were a little too easy to relate to, morning arguments that were put on hold for the sake of work and then resumed the same night. It’s impossible for both of them to work this job without some of the tension seeping into their home life. But they were prepared for this when they got together. They always knew how to work things out.

This, though. Spencer isn’t always the best at picking up on people’s moods, but over the years, picking up on Derek’s has become second nature. The set of his jaw, the way his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, the harsh crease of his brow--he’s upset, and he has a right to be, but that doesn’t stop Spencer from formulating a thousand different strategies for defending himself.

“Derek,” he says, because he can’t stand the silence between them.

“We’re almost home,” Derek answers.

His voice doesn’t hold malice, but the implication of his words is clear: it was Spencer who once observed that Derek drives more recklessly when he’s upset, so he’s a hypocrite for trying to start this talk right now. But Spencer hates the dread in his stomach, hates feeling like they’re not driving towards the house that they share but instead towards an argument.

He turns and stares out the window, swallowing tears and trying to find mathematical patterns in the mailbox numbers they pass. It’s a little more difficult than it should be, and while the rational part of Spencer knows it’s just because he’s exhausted and upset, the neurotic part points out that even the smallest mental failings can be early signs of a neurological breakdown.

He closes his eyes.

Seventeen minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, he feels the familiar bump of their uneven driveway as Derek pulls into it and parks. He opens his eyes and reaches for his bag where it sits at his feet, pulling it into his lap. For a moment, he just clutches it close, rubbing his thumb against the soft and worn material.

Then Derek undoes his seatbelt and looks over expectantly at him, and he knows he should follow suit.

He trails a few feet behind Derek as they walk up the steps to the front door. It’s cold out, nine or so degrees colder than when he walked into Harry and Glenn’s. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and chews on his lip as Derek unlocks the door.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was this grateful to be home. Actually, that’s a lie--it was after the bullet he took to the neck, after he got discharged from that stupid prison of a hospital that seemed more intent on killing him than healing him. Derek took him home and forewent sleep to take care of him, stroking his hair and rubbing circles into his back as a substitute for the narcotics he so desperately craved. But the proposal came two weeks later, and all of a sudden the ache in Spencer’s throat seemed perfectly manageable.

Derek walks into the kitchen and turns on the light. Spencer stands in the hall and touches the band on his finger, cool and beautiful. He can’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to feel the memory of his own wedding slip away.

He shakes his head of the thought and goes into the kitchen. Derek is leaning against the kitchen table, a bottle of water open next to him. He glances up when Spencer walks in, then glances away, his jaw tightening again.

And all of Spencer’s arguments for how this is Not His Fault vanish from his head, because even the threat of dementia doesn’t hurt as much as feeling like Derek can’t bear to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

For a moment, Derek doesn’t respond. Then, he looks up, blinks a few times.

“I know,” he says.

He picks up the water bottle and holds it out to Spencer, who doesn’t realize how dry his mouth is until he takes it. It’s funny, how Derek always seems to know what Spencer needs before he does.

“When were you going to tell me?” Derek asks.

“Soon,” Spencer says, although he knows it’s a terrible answer.

Derek thinks so too, because for the first time since they walked through the door, he allows anger to flash in his eyes. “‘Soon?’” He scoffs. “Babe, you’ve been back for almost two months and you haven’t said a single word about this to me. I think we’re past ‘soon.’”

“I just--” Spencer tries to reassemble his argument. “I wanted to do more research before I told you. There are so many unknown variables to a disease like Alzheimer’s, particularly early-onset, and I wanted to be prepared before I talked to you about it--”

“Listen to me. I am not a university lecture you have to prepare notes for. I am your _husband_ ,” Derek says, “And I shouldn’t have to learn that you’re in pain at the same time as a hitwoman who’s aiming a gun at you under a table.”

Well, when he puts it that way, it does make Spencer sound like a bit of an ass, doesn’t it?

“I said I was sorry,” Spencer says, peeling at the label on the water bottle. “It was stupid. You deserved better, I just…” He purses his lips. “I was scared to tell you.”

“Why?”

Spencer shrugs.

“Really.” Derek’s voice is gradually losing his edge. “Why?”

“Honestly?” The logo of the water company is blurring in his vision. He tears the label off completely. “Because I. I was worried what you would think. I thought it would be too much, that the idea of me going senile and you having to take care of me would just. I don’t know. I didn’t think it through.” Which is a lie, of course; he thinks through everything. It’s just that sometimes he does so as catastrophically as possible.

“Okay,” Derek says, straightening up, “Now you’re really trying to make me mad.”

But his voice is softer than ever as he takes a step towards Spencer. He gently takes the water bottle, its label shredded and the plastic sticky with exposed glue, and puts it on the table, freeing Spencer’s hands so that he can take them in his own.

“It finally felt like things were going to be stable for us,” Spencer says, feeling a tear escape onto his cheek, “And then this.”

“Things don’t have to be stable for us to be okay,” Derek says. “That’s what makes us great. But we do both need to be on the same page.” He lifts a thumb to Spencer’s face and brushes the tear away. “I mean, come on, what did you expect? That I’d walk out the door over the very possibility of you being sick?”

“By the time we got together, I had passed the point when a schizophrenic break was statistically probable,” Spencer says, although he’s not really sure why he says it.

“My love for you doesn’t depend on how low-risk you are, or how healthy you are.” He squeezes Spencer’s hands. “We don’t even know that you’ll get this disease, but if you do, I will still love you just as much. Your value to me isn’t measured by how sharp your mind is or how easy you are to take care of.”

“You say that now, but--”

“I will always say it,” Derek responds. “Trust me.”

Spencer searches his face for any traces of reluctance or insincerity. He finds none.

“Okay,” he concedes, but it’s not very convincing, even to himself, because all he can think of are the statistics on divorce and mental illness and the unfortunate ways in which they intersect.

But then Derek wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, and god, he feels like home. Spencer hides his face in Derek’s shoulder and for a brief and wonderful moment, his head goes completely quiet and it’s just the two of them, him and Derek, Derek who lives to make people smile, Derek who could’ve had anyone but chose Spencer, Derek who spent his entire life defying the odds stacked up against him, so really, who is Spencer to strive for anything less?

“Thank you,” Spencer whispers into the leather of Derek’s jacket. “I know I’m difficult.”

And Derek actually laughs at that, a gentle little thing that reverberates through his collarbone and against Spencer’s cheek. “Pretty boy,” he says, “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”


End file.
